Heliotropism
by artlessICTOAN
Summary: Nate wasn't quite sure what he expected in meeting the rebellious-looking man he'd spent the last few weeks spotting all around town. It probably wasn't this though. Natebit, Modern AU, Floristry AU
1. Columbines and Geraniums

so this was spawned after reading Colours (a v cute bit of natebit over on ap3 that Everyone should go check out) and we got talking and suddenly this became a Thing i've needed my whole life, so here i am writing it bc _someone_ has to

hope yall enjoy!

* * *

At what point did innocent, if slightly obsessive, observation become creepy, Nate couldn't help wondering.

It was a train of thought that seemed to be coming up more and more these days, often with several loud, unhelpful interjections from the Anxiety Goblin that liked to stow away on-board. He hadn't yet come up with any conclusive answer, something which festered at the back of his mind, something especially irritating to someone so fixated on finding the answers to everything – or that was the excuse he'd always give to himself every time it happened again, chasing overly-buckled boots and artfully-ripped jeans and a faint haze of smoke.

Oh, would you look at that, once again he'd caught himself staring intently at the man ambling slowly down the street, completely unaware of the eyes following him as he passed by the small, unassuming floristry shop.

It was only once he was fully out of view that Nate finally remembered the flowers he was supposed to be transferring to a fresh tub and _not_ holding clutched to his chest, dripping water down his apron and onto his shoes. Hurriedly dumping them where they were supposed to be going two minutes ago, he wiped himself off as best he could, frowning at the damp left sticking to his fingers; at least the uniform was dark enough that it didn't show too bad and the shop was empty apart from him.

He seriously had a problem.

* * *

"That will be twenty-seven pounds fifty, please."

The middle-aged woman started digging through her bag, muttering to herself about loose change and never being able to find what she needed. Nate didn't particularly mind, she'd been polite throughout the transaction and it wasn't like the place was heaving, he reassured her with an only _slightly_ awkward smile, before turning to fuss with the various leaflets on the counter that had somehow fallen out of their perfectly square piles during the day.

But it didn't take long before something entirely different caught his attention.

Crouching just outside the window, was him, the mystery man who clearly had some kind of eye-drawing spell cast over him, because why else would he always be so terrified of even _blinking_ whenever he was in view?

Luckily, he hadn't noticed Nate's weird staring, he was instead focused on the small bouquet of columbines on display.

He wasn't going to complain about that though, it meant that for once the man was close enough and still enough for Nate to get a real look at him. He… was gorgeous, even the wind blowing at his dyed red hair just made it look enticingly tousled and the scrapes of dirt on his high cheekbones gave him a slightly wild edge, which only added to his punky aesthetic.

There was something incredibly enticing about him, though Nate couldn't begin to explain what, it wasn't like he was very punk himself – quite the opposite in fact – and the stranger looked like he must be in some kind of gang; he had to wonder how many fights this man must get into, to give him so many rips in his clothing and grazes on freckled skin.

A gentle cough snapped his attention back to the woman in front of him, holding out a few notes and with a pile of change laid out on the counter.

Rushing out a stream of apologies, he quickly counted out the cash, something he was thankfully very gifted in, and sorted it all into the register, thanking her for her patronage all in the same breath. He couldn't help glancing back over to the window though and he had to physically restrain himself from sighing when he saw the man had already pushed himself to his feet and was slowly walking away, hands in pockets, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

The woman followed his gaze, tutting slightly as soon as he was out of sight. "Can't imagine what a hooligan like that was doing, do you want me to call someone dear?"

Nate forced a carefully polite smile onto his face. "Oh, no, I'm sure he was just looking, I'll be fine."

"Alright then, but you should watch out for people like that! Never know what that sort might be up to." She quickly gathered up her bag and her flowers, sending him one last thank you before exiting the shop. He wondered if she went in the opposite direction to the punk man specifically to avoid him.

* * *

By this point, he'd lost count of the number of times they'd happened to pass each other. It wasn't just when he was at work, but sometimes as he was walking home he'd pick up the scent of smoke and turn to see a striped shirt and ripped jeans disappearing around the corner, one time he'd even seen him in the local supermarket – though he'd quickly walked to the next aisle, terrified that if he was noticed he'd immediately be accused of stalking the man… though honestly, he wasn't entirely sure that he _wasn't_.

He often had to remind himself that it wasn't completely unreasonable to come across someone this often, they lived in a relatively small city and far enough from the main town centre that most people would rather come to the smaller, local shopping district, rather than drive the extra forty minutes, at least to buy the everyday essentials, so you always saw a lot of familiar faces.

Or you would, if you ever paid attention to anyone but the Mystery Hooligan with the lovely eyes and the intriguing appearance; like the worn cover of an old book, practically begging you to dive in and uncover all its secrets.

He'd never actually been seen watching though, thank god, or if he had it'd never been more than a passing glance.

And Nate could hardly blame him for not being similarly captivated, he was a short, plain-looking guy who favoured bland colours and simple shirts, he never dressed up, or went out, or did anything remotely exciting, the only thing that really stood out about him was his hair and even that covered enough of his face that unless you were _really_ looking he'd be easy to mistake for an old man.

Oh, and there was a very slim chance that the stranger was also into guys, but that was a minor point compared to the vast ocean of wildly opposed personalities.

Still, it was a little exciting to imagine being drawn up into that kind of life, by a dangerous, enigmatic punk who wore battle-scars without shame and was never seen without a cigarette in hand… the fantasy was fun, even if he knew logically that he'd hate it.

* * *

Autumn was the absolute worst time of year for his line of work; there were no major holidays – or at least not the type that called for flowers, they'd gotten tragically few requests for Halloween bouquets in the four years he'd been working here, which was particularly annoying because he actually had ideas he wanted to try out – and most people were beginning to save for the winter season rampage.

But it did at least give him plenty of time to fuss over the geranium display to his heart's content. Not even Mihael's low grumbling about unnecessary shifts could distract him when there were things to be ordered.

It was a bit of a trial trying to balance his innate desire to sort things into strict, logical patterns, while also letting his more artistic side keep things from appearing too mechanical – a look his boss wasn't overly keen on, though he still thought his minimal designs were just as beautiful as the more traditional, rustic ones they were encouraged to create.

He wasn't annoyed by it enough that he was actually going to kick up a fuss about it, but he'd still sometimes moan about it with Mihael, who shared similar gripes that he wasn't allowed to create his grand, wild, chaotic, 'maximalist' visions.

Their… friendship was an inexplicable one, but it somehow worked. Most of the time.

"Look, I don't know shit about this stuff, why're you asking here? Google exists" Even if his brain-to-mouth filter was seriously lacking.

"C'mon, you're a florist, aren't ya?"

Mihael's groans could probably be heard halfway down the street. "I don't grow them, I just make them look good."

"Seriously? You don't know _anything_ about looking after plants?" The voice was a little deep, slightly rough, but warm and expressive, it clearly sounded more amused than irritated, even though Nate was notoriously bad at picking up on such things.

"I'm an artist, not a doctor! If you're not gonna look this up yourself then- Hey, Cottonball!"

Frowning at the annoying nickname that he had apparently been branded with for life, he glanced over to where Mihael was standing, slouched heavily over the counter.

But that wasn't half as important as the distressingly familiar sight of a tatty, striped shirt and dirt-stained knuckles. Nate swallowed hard against the sudden stone caught in his throat, only half hearing what his friend was saying.

"Go ask him, he's weirdly into that kinda shit."

The man either didn't notice that he was being stared at like a deer would stare at the rapidly approaching lights, or he didn't care, because the second he'd taken a few long steps over, he was crouching down a little and shoving his phone into Nate's face, hands shaking terribly.

"Please, you've gotta help me, I think my plant's dying and I need to save him!"


	2. Hawthorn and White Carnations

holy shit this got done fast, kinda short (though not half as short as i was expecting after i got some last second insp for the end bit) but hopefully silly and sweet and fun to read!

enjoy folks!

* * *

"I dunno what happened, I'm always so careful with how much I water them and I don't let pests stick around, it's been getting worse for a whole week now…"

He'd definitely been staring for too long, but how could he _not_ ; that deep, dark shade of blue was breath-taking, Nate couldn't help thinking that it should be dotted with glittering stars and painted across the sky, because no natural means could ever produce a colour so beautiful.

"So, any ideas?"

"Oh, um-" Nate fought down the blush as he switched his gaze to the phone still wavering right under his nose, squinting at the screen, he finally let his mind run through its database of plant diseases and compare them to the image of a thick, green stem, with a worrying patch of woody-looking brown. He frowned at the image, already having a few suspicions of the problem. "Is this a sunflower?"

"Yeah, I've got a whole bunch of 'em, but this is the only one that looks like this. You know what it is?" The man's voice was trembling, just slightly.

Grimacing, he nodded. "It looks like stem canker, have you noticed any kind of mould or fungus?"

Bright hair fluttered as he shook his head. "No and I've checked all over! What's this stem canker, it sounds kinda funny, but looking at your expression I'm guessing it's not."

"It's a kind of stem damage, usually a sign of _diaporthe helianthi_ , though I've read that extreme heat can also cause it, maybe that heatwave we had over summer?" Carefully extracting the phone from the mans grip and holding it a little further back to get a clearer picture, the world around him became hazy as he instead focused on the puzzle at hand. "I'm not sure that there's much you can do about it, once the stem starts to decay then any future growth will be stunted, eventually the stem completely deteriorates and will snap."

When he didn't get a response, Nate glanced back up to the man, almost dropping the phone at seeing genuine _tears_ in his eyes. He sent his co-worker a terrified look, but Mihael was far more interested in the sketchbook in his lap and offered no help whatsoever.

His hand went to hover at the punk's shoulder for a moment, before quickly dropping back to his side, what the hell was he supposed to do in this kind of situation?

"Sorry," the strange man eventually mumbled, wiping a sleeve over his eyes, "sorry, he's just so young, can't believe the world can be so cruel."

Nate really wished he had some kind of reference point for dealing with crying people, as it was, he'd just have to wing it and hope for the best. "Perhaps it's still salvageable, the weather has cooled down now, maybe if you supported the stem with wire…"

"You really think that will work?" the man asked, mouth twisted in doubt.

He paused, but not for very long. "No. Not really, but it's a possibility. I'm not exactly a botanist, just an… enthusiastic amateur."

Oh, oh dear, that smile really was something to behold; slightly crooked, but warm and honest, exposing the faint dimples in his cheeks and making his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, even at it also brought a faint scar across his nose under _just_ the right light to make it visible. Was he staring again? Probably, but until that smile died then he never going to turn away ever again.

The loud snort Mihael gave quickly stamped out any hopeful ember of a moment that was burning between them. "Riiight, 'enthusiastic,' I think the word you're looking for is obsessive, Cottonball."

"Insightful."

"You're welcome, now do you two wanna wrap it up? We're closing in five and no way am I staying late just because you found someone who'll actually listen to you spouting off your plant facts." He didn't bother waiting for an answer, instead marching to the door and holding it open with a theatrical bow.

Those wonderfully blue eyes rolled, though the movement was half hidden behind both hair and glasses, before finally settling on Nate with another kind smile.

"Sorry, guess I'm keeping you guys, thanks for the advice, I'll give the wire thing a go!"

He was already turning away and Nate was struck with the sudden crushing fear that this might be the only time they would ever interact and that the next day he would once again be relegated to simply watching from the shadows. Just before he could disappear through the door, he succeeded in making a tiny noise of protest, one he was actually quite surprised was heard.

Pausing and looking back over his shoulder, the man raised an expectant brow.

Would it be rude to just take a photo of him right here and now? He'd love to try capturing the inexplicably harmonious combination of bright red, deep blue and faded orange in an arrangement…

It was ridiculously difficult to concentrate with those eyes on him, but, once he fixed his own gaze to the hanging basket of hawthorn two feet to the left of the mans face, he did manage to mumble out a quiet, "Let me know how it goes?"

"'Course I will, now I know there's a plant whizz in the area I'm probably gonna be coming here all the time to bug ya for advice! See ya 'round!"

And with that, he stepped into the damp autumn evening.

Nate watched him go as he passed the window, and then _kept_ staring, even after he was out of sight. It was only when Mihael started clicking his fingers right in his face, that he finally blinked and accepted that the beautiful, intriguing, captivating man was gone; he didn't need a mirror to know how his face had fallen at the realisation.

His friend looked _entirely_ too amused.

Glaring for a few seconds, Nate muttered a low, "I swear if you say anything, then I'm showing the boss that footage of you telling a poor old man that his taste in flowers is 'disgraceful' and 'if you were his wife and got that bouquet you'd divorce him on the spot'," before striding over to the counter and snatching up the keys to lock up. It was a few minutes early, but really who was gonna come in now looking to buy something?

But, when he turned to head to the door, Mihael was still smiling; he really wished he could categorise expressions better, then he'd know _exactly_ how pissed off he should be.

"What?"

The blond held up his hands, but that _smile_ stayed firmly in place. "I didn't say anything."

"You're saying something with your face."

"It's called expressing emotion Nate, I know you're still confused by the ways of the 'hooman' but you should really know this by now."

He blinked once, before digging in his apron pocket for his phone. "You know what, I think I'll just go ahead and send that video now-"

"I seriously can't tell if you're kidding Cottonball."

Oh, it was _so_ sweet when he actually got Mihael's face to drop like that, it actually brought a vicious little smirk to his own face…

Suddenly, there was a crashing sound against the glass door behind him.

By the time he'd turned to face it, the familiar man had realised that it wasn't actually locked yet and had pushed it open enough to poke his head through. Grinning an awkward, sheepish grin, the man with the beautiful eyes, and hair, and face, and just _everything_ really, locked eyes with him.

"Uh, hey I'm really sorry, I know you're about to close and everything, but I forgot to ask your name, y'know, in case I come back when you're not working and wanna drop an update or something?"

He didn't know how he managed to spit it out when his chest was so damn tight, but the man nodded and softly repeated it a few times, as though committing it to memory. "Nate, cool! I like that name, 's way better than plain old Matt. Nate… Right, well I guess I'll go now, for real this time, thanks and sorry and… yeah, ok, I'm off, see ya!"

Closing the door with exaggerated care, the man – Matt? – gave one last wave as he walked by the window.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, how have you managed to find the _one_ guy in the world even more weird than you are?"

"Oops, my finger slipped, hope your resume is up to date."

"You little-"

He didn't try to stop Mihael from snatching his phone from his grasp, still staring dazedly at the pot of white carnations.

"…This is a cat video, you piece of sh-!"


	3. Purple Roses and Monkshood

longer chap this time, woo! gotta admit that i'm not 100% sure where this fic is going, but i'm happy to just let it take the lead, it's got some interesting ideas (and if anyone's got prompts they'd like to see feel free to lemme know!)

enjoy, me lovelies!

* * *

Four days passed, but there was no sign of any beautiful punk loitering around the store.

Not that Nate had really expected to see him again, not long enough to strike up a conversation at least, but still, he'd hoped that the man would hold true to his promise to keep him updated…

The tap on his shoulder was gentle – barely there at all – but it made his skin crawl with the ghost sensations and lingering sticky feeling that he knew was mostly just all in his mind. He still managed to force a habitual smile onto his face by the time he'd turned around though, even if he had to harshly brush his shoulder clean of the feeling.

Mr Wammy's moustache flared up slightly as he smiled, he couldn't help but notice.

"You seem distracted," he said, going back to preparing purple roses for a wedding bouquet, but keeping his head turned just enough that he could give Nate a searching look out of the corner of his eye, "is something the matter?"

"I'm fine." He quickly busied himself with selecting complementary presentation papers and ribbons, anything to get his boss to stop _looking_ at him.

"You know, talking can be a great help when it comes to problem-solving."

Nate had to resist the urge to say something bitter and unprofessional; he didn't need to get fired today and the elderly man was trying to be understanding, even if his advice _really_ wasn't practical for him. Socialising was a pain when it was just generic small-talk, or banter with a close friend, trying to explain to a not-particularly-close colleague that he was just disappointed because a cute guy wasn't interested in seeing the weird, boring florist – who'd spent ninety percent of their first and only interaction staring and gaping – ever again.

He didn't reply to his boss, just handed over some pearlescent white paper, with a thick, golden ribbon to match it.

The staring eventually subsided, Wammy instead putting all his focus into the gathering, twisting and taping of flowers and greenery, while Nate fooled himself that his preoccupied glances were just checking for potential customers and not green-fingered punks.

* * *

"Thank you, please come again!" Mihael's voice _almost_ sounded convincing, it was only Nate's familiarity with him that kept him from believing it. "…God what an idiot, who thinks pairing a navy suit with a black shirt is a good idea? I hope his date dumps her drink on him."

He had to laugh, if only out of bemusement at how his friend managed to not get himself punched on a daily basis. "Is the navy-on-black thing better or worse than mismatched blacks?"

"Better, obviously, anyone who wears mismatched blacks deserves to be shot, it's the most unforgivable crime against fashion."

"Do you _actually_ have a list somewhere about this?"

"Yes. You're lucky, oversized sweaters are only fifty-eighth, so we're allowed to be friends, but I can't be seen with you in public," he said it with such a straight face, that Nate had to believe he was being serious – it would certainly explain why several of his invitations to hang out had been declined… "Relax, I'm kidding. But seriously, if we're ever out and one of my other friends sees us, then I don't know who you are."

He frowned, glancing down at his current outfit. "What's wrong with sweaters?"

"If I explain it to you, will you stop wearing them?" When he shook his head, Mihael scoffed. "Then I'm not gonna waste my time; you're a lost cause, I've accepted that."

Maybe he should be offended by that, but he knew that his friend wasn't trying to be genuinely mean, besides, being fashionable was the furthest thing from his mind when he got clothes, comfort and practicality topped everything else.

Returning to his task of picking out any wilting blooms from the buckets decorating the shop-floor, he wondered what Matt might think of his preferred clothing. Clearly the man would never reach Mihael's definition of good taste – distressed jeans were dull and stripes were tacky, according to him – but he clearly had a 'look' he was going for, something punk-rock and perhaps even a little dangerous, what with the brightly dyed hair and spiked accessories he'd seen him wearing.

Next to him, Nate must look even more dorky than he _already_ did, what with his sweaters and loose dress-shirts and sensible trousers. It was even worse when he was at home, where it was his soft, well-worn pyjamas and socks, almost exclusively, perhaps a woolly jumper in winter, if it was particularly hot, he might be forced to shed his beloved pj-shirts for a tank top.

The bell above the door tinkled its little turn, he didn't bother to turn around; when they were both in, Mihael was the one who got to speak to customers – for better or ill.

But the drawn-out sigh and muttered curse quickly drew his attention back away from his task. "Hey Nate," the blond muttered, glaring at the door even as he whispered to his co-worker, "your boyfriend's back again."

"Wha-"

"Hey!" The exuberant call was very familiar, and struck him with joy and terror in equal measure. "I dunno if you remember me, I was the guy with the sick sunflower, you gave me some advice?"

Trying to clear his suddenly-dry throat as quietly as possible, Nate nodded. "Yes, I remember."

"Well I just wanted to let you know that things seem to be doing ok, I supported Lucas with some wire and a strong stick, he's still got that stem cank thing you were talking about, but he looks healthy other than that, so I'm feeling positive!"

"That's good to hear…" Was there something he was supposed to be saying? Probably, but hell if he knew what it was.

The man didn't seem deterred though. "Yeah! You seriously know your stuff, I mean you only had to look at the picture for a few seconds and you already knew what was wrong."

He could already feel the burning of a blush on his cheeks and cursed his pale skin for its inability to disguise it. "It's nothing really," he said, turning back to the flowers solely for the excuse to hide his red face, "I'm sure you would've come across it quite easily if you'd searched online."

 _God_ , that laugh made his heart flutter way too hard. "Ah, well actually I get kinda… freaked out whenever I try searching symptoms online, y'know? Mostly with human diseases and stuff, but knowing me I'd get it into my head that the absolute worst thing is definitely what's happened and have a huge panic and end up doing the complete wrong thing." A subtle glance showed Matt nervously pushing up his glasses, almost _hiding_ behind his hand.

"Oh," it was difficult to reconcile the image of the man in his head – that of a confident, brash hooligan, who didn't even seem to notice the grazed skin on his cheek, or that his hair was matted with dirt on one side – with the reality before him.

Though it was entirely possible that he could be both a rough and ready thug _and_ an anxious plant-lover, the two weren't necessarily mutually exclusive after all.

"Well, I'm glad things seem to be working out," he eventually said, when he realised that Matt was waiting for more, "though I'm surprised they've bloomed this late in the season, when did you plant them?"

"Uh, sometime in August, I guess? I'd only just moved to a place with an actual garden and I was kinda… really excited to grow sunflowers… Yeah, ok, that's kinda dorky."

He was definitely still blushing, but so was Matt, so he at least felt a little less embarrassed about it. "No, you're not, it's-" he paused, trying to think of a way of saying 'cute' without coming off as too forward "-quite endearing actually." Well. Utterly failed there then. Did Mihael _really_ find his floundering so hilarious, that he couldn't keep his snickers to himself?

They were nothing like Matt's soft chuckle, which effortlessly wiped away his frown; when he stopped glaring at Mihael to look up at him, the tall man was smiling back, still half-covering his face with a fidgeting hand.

In a voice that was half laugh and half sigh, he said, "Ah, that's sweet of you, but you can just say I'm a total nerd if you want, I'm not gonna deny it."

"Then we're all in agreement," Mihael said before Nate could even figure out how to respond, "you're both total plant nerds."

"Dude, you work in a florists."

The blond scoffed. "And? That doesn't mean I'm obsessed with grass, it's just a job."

Matt turned back to him, one eyebrow raised. "Is he always like that?" he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards his co-worker.

"You don't know the half of it."

"Damn, sounds like you've got it pretty rough-" the sudden blaring metal song – vaguely familiar, was it from an anime or something? – emanating from his pocket cut him off, as he instead started fumbling for his phone, throwing a nervous grin in Nate's direction as he answered. "Hey dude… Yeah, yeah I know that but… Alright, I got it, you don't need to get all pissy, I'm coming already!"

He didn't bother saying goodbye, just pulled the phone from his ear and clicked a button, ending the call; Nate couldn't help but notice that the phone was _ancient_ , an old Nokia brick, where the hell did you even buy those anymore?

"Hey, sorry, guess I've gotta go and do… a thing now, but it was great seeing you again, I'll be back with another update sometime soon, see ya 'round Nate!" And with that, the man practically ran out the door, waving as he passed the shop's window, before disappearing down the street, leaving the two florists staring after him.

Mihael was the one to break the baffled silence. "Well that was suspicious, wanna take bets on what kind of crime he's off to commit?"

His middle finger made his response quite clear, but Nate couldn't help thinking that his friend might have a point.

* * *

The next time he saw Matt, was completely unexpected – for both of them apparently, if the way the man's tired blue eyes widened and his steps faltered for a moment were anything to go by.

"Hey," he called out, jogging slightly to meet Nate at the entrance to Wammy's Garden, "what're you doing here so early? Figured the shop wouldn't open 'til eight-ish at the earliest." As he was talking, his hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie and he bounced slightly in place, as though fighting off the cold air.

Nate covered his mouth with an icy-cold hand, hating that his body chose this _exact_ moment to yawn, but managed to force a brief smile up at him once control of his facial muscles was returned to him. "Waiting on a delivery."

"Damn, how long does that usually take?"

He shrugged, glancing up and down the empty road. "They'll get here before seven," he said, before glancing at Matt out of the corner of his eye, "what about you?"

"Oh, I'm just… walking," the punk sounded a little nervous about that, or maybe it was embarrassment, or maybe Nate was just reading too much into something that wasn't there, wouldn't be the first time, but he was still smiling, even if his shoulders were trembling with the cold.

Just as he was about to ask if he wanted to stand inside for a while – not that the shop was that much warmer – the rumbling of a van turning the corner drew his attention.

The driver grunted a greeting as she climbed out, already circling around to open the back.

Sighing at yet another missed opportunity to spend a little time getting to know the mysterious, beautiful, possible-gang-member, he followed after her, carefully checking the crates full of potted flowers for damage as she passed them over.

Suddenly, Matt was at his side once more, nudging Nate's shoulder lightly with his own. "Do you want a hand with that? I can carry it in, you hold the door."

He faltered a moment, stammering as he tried to push him back. "R-really, that's not necessary-"

Matt waved him off, already plating a hand on each side of one of the huge boxes. "Don't be silly, I don't mind helping ou- hhnnngnggg!" The grin disappeared the second he tried lifting it, replaced instead with a frown as he let go and tried another angle. "Damn, this is way heavier than I thought… ok, let's try this again, hhhnNNG!"

The box made a thud as it dropped onto the floor of the van once more, flowers shuddering with the force of it, Matt glared down at them, shaking out his arms, but already preparing for another try.

As entertaining as it was to watch the man barely managing to hold the crate a few inches in the air – an expression of horrified realisation dawning across his face – he should probably step in before someone got hurt. Or the delivery lady literally threw him aside and just did the job herself.

Gently pushing him away before he could try again, Nate couldn't hold back the chuckle as he said, "I was going to warn you…"

Planting his feet and securely grasping the crate, he lifted the thing with only a slight grunt, before heading back to the shop, arms quickly starting to ache, but not enough to weaken his grip.

Matt followed him, wordlessly holding open the door, only once the box of monkshood was dropped onto the counter, did he seem to find words again. "Dude! How in the hell can you lift this shit? No offense but I thought you were a complete twig when I first saw you, what're you hiding under those sweaters you always wear?"

"I… don't know? I'm still skinny just… a little toned too I guess, there's lots of heavy lifting in this job," he was panting slightly, but couldn't deny the little rush he felt at impressing the taller man.

The doorbell clanged as it was kicked open by the delivery driver, easily holding two boxes in her arms. At her raised eyebrow Nate cleared a space on the counter for her to place them, thanking her as he quickly flicked through the receipt and wordlessly signed the sheet offered to him. She wished the pair a nice day and walked back out, the noise of her van starting made him want to slam his hands over his ears, but he restricted himself to just humming over the noise, already going through the pots and pulling a few out.

He'd almost forgotten that Matt was still there, until he picked one of the little plastic tubs up and studied the young monkshood sprouts closely. "How come they're so tiny? You don't use these for fancy, expensive bouquets or anything, right?"

"No," he said, carefully repacking the flowers once he was satisfied of their quality, holding out his hand for the one still in Matt's grasp, "these are to go in the greenhouse out back, we grow most of our own flowers here."

"Huh, no shit…" With almost exaggerated care, he handed the last pot back to Nate, his fingers lingering just a _little_ too long against his, before retreating back into his pockets.

They were both quiet for a long moment, not-quite looking at each other, but neither making any move to end the conversation, or leave either. _This might be your only chance to ever really spend some time with him_ , Nate's brain helpfully kept repeating over and over and over again, pointing out that Mihael was off today, that his boss wouldn't be in for another hour at least, _no one would know_ , until he was so frustrated with it that he didn't even think before saying, "Would you like to help me plant them? I-if you've got the time, that is…"

Matt's grin should probably be declared as an affront to the Gods for its impossible beauty – as offensive to them as Arachne's boasts that her skills surpassed even Athena's – but there was no crash of thunder, no terrible smiting, just a soft chuckle.

"I'd like that," he said, wide grin showing off his dimples.

"Great-" Nate made sure the flowers were secure, nodding to the door behind the counter "-I'll lift and you hold the door?"


End file.
